ornia 
al 

7 


R.  G-  R0SE. 

/    -^'-  ~ 


presented  to  the 

LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  •  SAN  DIEGO 

by 
FRIENDS  OF  THE  LIBRARY 


MR.   JOHN  C.   ROSE 


donor 


EDGAR  FAWGETT'S  OTHER  WRITINGS 

FICTION 

RUTHERFORD 

A  GENTLEMAN  OF  LEISURE 

A  HOPELESS  CASE 

AN  AMBITIOUS  WOMAN 

TINKLING  CYMBALS 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW 

THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  CLAUD 

THE  HOUSE  AT  HIGH  BRIDGE 

OLIVIA  DELAPLAINE 

A  MAN'S  WILL 

DOUGLAS  DUANE 

SOLARION 

DIVIDED  LIVES 

MIRIAM  BALESTIER 

A  DEMORALIZING  MARRIAGE 

THE  EVIL  THAT  MEN  Do 

A  DAUGHTER  OF  SILENCE 

FABIAN  DIMITRY 

How  A  HUSBAND  FORGAVE 

A  ROMANCE  OF  Two  BROTHERS 

A  NEW  YORK  FAMILY 

WOMEN  MUST  WEEP 

AN  HEIR  TO  MILLIONS 

HUMOROUS  VERSE 

THE  BUNTLING  BALL 
THE  NEW  KING  ARTHUR 

MISCELLANEOUS 

SOCIAL  SILHOUETTES 
AGNOSTICISM,  AND  OTHER  ESSAYS 

POETRY 

FANTASY  AND  PASSION 
SONG  AND  STORY 
ROMANCE  AND  REVERY 
SONGS  OF  DOUBT  AND  DREAM 


j. 


AMERICAN  PUSH. 


BY 


EDGAR  FAWCETT. 


CHICAGO  : 

F.  J.  SCHULTE  &  COMPANY,  PUBLISHEBS, 


No.  298  DEABBOBN  STREET, 


Copyright,  1892, 
BY  FRANCIS  J.  SCHULTE. 

ALL  RIGHTS  EESERVED. 


AMERICAN   PUSH. 


i. 

ALL  day  the  wind  had  stung  as  it  blew  beneath  a 
sky  of  slate.  Even  Gramercy  Park  looked  bleak 
and  cheerless  while  a  brougham  of  elegant  trim, 
with  two  liveried  men  on  its  box,  rattled  up  to  the 
door  of  a  mansion  just  south  of  Irving  Place.  The 
inmate,  a  young  man,  wrapped  to  his  ears  in  a  huge 
coat  lined  with  sable,  remained  inside  his  carriage 
until  the  footman's  bel^ring  had  been  answered. 
Then  he  lightly  bounded  forth  upon  the  pavement, 
and  ran  up  the  stoop  into  the  open  doorway,  which 
was  immediately  closed  behind  him  by  another  foot- 
man inside  the  hall. 

"  Is  everything  ready,  Jameson  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  as  his  young  master 
slipped  out  of  the  coat  and  let  its  big,  sumptuous 
bulk  drop  into  this  third  servant's  waiting  arms.  A 
large  mirror  gleamed  opposite  the  form  which  had 
thus  lightly  unsheathed  itself,  and  its  possessor, 
Alonzo  Lispenard,  gave  a  saucy  stare  at  his  own  pre- 
sentment. He  saw  a  man  in  the  later  twenties,  of 
excellent  height  and  build,  though  of  meager  personal 
beauty.  Bronze  eyes,  with  a  merry  spark  in  them, 
and  waved  hair  of  silky  yellow,  did  their  best  to  keep 

5 


6 

the  face  from  being  commonplace.  Aii  impudent 
nose  somewhat  aided  it  —  a  nose  with  an  airy  upward 
slant  and  little  arches  to  flank  either  nostril.  Some 
of  Alonzo's  friends  used  to  say  that  this  feature 
accounted  for  many  of  his  audacities. 

"Oh,  I  think  I'll- do,"  he  exclaimed,  half  to  himself 
and  half,  as  it  were,  to  Jameson,  who  grinned 
serenely.  "If  they  don't  like  me  this  way  they'll 
have  to  take  me,  all  the  same."  He  wheeled  round 
on  one  heel  and  hurried  to  the  staircase.  He  had 
reached  the  middle  of  it,  taking  two  steps  at  a  time, 
when  he  suddenly  paused,  and  called  over  one  shoul- 
der : 

"Oh,  Jameson,  are  the  carpet  and  the  awning  out 
there?  I  forgot  to  notice." 

"  No,  sir,  not  yet.  But  they're  sure  to  be  in  time, 
Mr.  Lispenard." 

Alonzo  fronted  the  speaker,  and  shook  with  vehe- 
mence an  upraised  forefinger.  "Now,  Jameson,"  he 
cried,  "  if  anything  goes  wrong  to-day  you'll  not  for- 
get it  till  your  dying  hour.  To  say  that  you'll  merely 
be  discharged,  isn't  anything.  I'll  have  you  traced 
by  detectives  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth,  and 
the  instant  you  try  to  get  a  new  place,  they'll  prevent 
you." 

He  sprang  upstairs  again,  still  two  steps  at  a  time,, 
while  Jameson  watched  him  with  eyes  that  twinkled 
fondly.  Just  as  he  disappeared,  the  new  English 
valet,  Fletcher,  sauntered  from  back  regions.  This 
person  had  a  sneer  on  his  clean-shorn  upper  lip  as  he 
muttered  to  Jameson  : 


|)tisi).  7 

"  Well,  if  he  ain't  one  o'  the  reg'lar  bloomin',  lah- 
de-dah,  strike-ye-with-a-feather  kind  !  I  wonder  how 
you  could  stand  him  for  so  long  a  time.  I  begin  to 
be  pretty  sure  that  I  can't. " 

Jameson  colored  and  scowled.  He  greatly  liked  his 
young  master.  To  new  eyes  and  ears  Alonzo's  man- 
ner was  no  doubt  effeminate.  He  often  chose  to  use 
the  treble  notes  of  a  voice  that  was  not  devoid  of  bass 
ones,  and  he  gave  to  his  body  a  too  mercurial  twirl, 
to  his  shoulders  a  too  facile  shrug.  His  laugh  had 
sometimes  a  girl's  own  shrillness,  and  he  sometimes 
used  his  hands  in  gestures  that  were  so  many  chal- 
lenges to  dignity.  But  those  who  knew  him  best 
knew  him  for  an  athlete  of  skill,  a  rider  of  pluck,  a 
keen  sportsman  when  laziness  let  him  shoot  or  hunt, 
and  a  mental  force  replete  with  every  opposite  of 
womanish  trends  and  tastes. 

The  new  valet  had  been  in  office  hardly  a  week  yet, 
and  here  was  not  the  first  slur  that  his  fellow-servants 
had  heard  fall  from  his  lips.  He  had  chosen  a  dan- 
gerous atmosphere  in  which  to  vent  his  aversion,  and 
this  fact  was  soon  made  clear  to  him  in  no  careful 
terms.  "Look  out,  my  young  sprig  o'  conceit," 
growled  Jameson,  whose  gray-touched  little  thickets 
of  side-whisker  seemed  to  bristle  as  he  spoke,  "or 
you'll  find  that  the  gent  you've  engaged  with  '11  send 
you  flyin'  before  you've  had  the  chance  to  give  warnin*. 
And  without  a  rec'mendation,  too.  Yes,  sir,  yon 
needn't  look  sour  and  uppish.  Mr.  Lispenard  won't 
mind  that.  If  you  take  him  for  what  you've  just 


8  American  JJusI). 

called  him  you'll  get  so  left  you  won't  know  Monday 
from  Saturday  week." 

The  new  valet  (who  was  thought  to  wear  stays)  put 
a  neat  white  hand  on  either  hip.  He  had  been  in 
this  country  three  or  four  years,  and  had  learned 
not  to  squander  his  h's.  But  in  the  excitement  of 
repartee  he  now  forsook  a  few  of  them.  With 
"bloomin',"  "blarsted,"  and  an  occasional  "bloody" 
as  his  recurrent  ^  adjectives,  he  declared  himself  anx- 
ious to  learn  of  Jameson  why  he  so  admired  Mr. 
Lispenard.  And  Jameson  swiftly  told  him. 

"He's  got  his  harum-scarum  ways,"  announced 
the  butler,  in  tart  semitone,  "but  he's  every  inch  a 
gentleman  behind  'em.  His  foolin's  only  like  the 
white  of  an  egg  with  a  big  yelk  to  it.  When  I  was 
sick  in  the  hospital,  two  years  ago,  he  went  to  see  me 
twice  a  week,  and  put  me  in  a  room  that  must  'a'  cost 
him  a  hundred  dollars  a  month  if  it  cost  a  cent.  The 
man  that  was  here  just  before  you,  got  drunk  three 
times,  and  was  forgiven,  and  at  last,  when  the  rascal 
stole  a  scarf-pin  worth  seventy  dollars,  he  had  to 
pack,  but  Mr.  Lispenard  shook  him  by  the  hand  — 
yes,  sir  —  before  he  quitted  these  doors  with  his  dirty 
feet,  and  told  him  that  he  hoped  with  all  his  soul  not 
goin'  to  prison  this  time  would  teach  him  a  lesson  for 
the  rest  of  his  life.  Think  o'  that,  when  the  police 
was  spoilin'  for  the  mean  devil,  and  Mr.  Lispenard 
could  V  had  him  sent  up  by  the  wave  of  a  finger  ! 
.  .  .  And  he  gives  to  the  poor !  Lord,  sir  !  I've  seen 
him  bring  tramps  into  this  very  hall  that  made  me 
itch  to  look  at  'em.  And  I  don't  itch  easy,  neither," 


American  flnsl).  9 

pursued  Jameson,  with  a  fresh  scowl  meant  to  be 
deeply  august  in  its  convincing  agency.  .  .  . 

Meanwhile,  the  object  of  this  eulogium  (which 
went  flowing  on,  to  the  mingled  surprise  and  amuse- 
ment of  its  hearer)  had  reached  the  drawing-rooms 
on  the  higher  floor  and  had  paused  there,  surveying 
their  quiet  splendors.  There  were  three  rooms  in  all, 
the  first  and  second  spacious,  the  third  a  little 
smaller,  being'  in  fact  a  dining-room,  but  large 
enough  for  a  good -sized  throng  to  feast  in,  as  many 
a  good-sized  throng  had  done.  Their  curtains  had 
been  drawn  ;  the  clusters  of  side-lights  had  been  lit. 
There  was  no  profusion  of  ornament.  You  had  a 
sense  of  heavy  falling  tapestries,  of  occasional  pict- 
ures, each  in  itself  a  gem-like  masterpiece,  of  cush- 
ions piled  in  alcoves,  of  just  a  few  white-glimmering 
bits  of  sculpture  ;  of  an  exquisite  little  antique  head 
here  and  a  bit  of  choice  Japanese  enameling  there. 
But  no  huddled  masses  offended  the  eye,  which  roved 
easily  from  one  point  of  elegance  to  the  next,  finding 
nothing  inferior,  nothing  with  the  faintest  tarnish  of 
cheapness. 

Alonzo  had  just  stooped  to  bury  his  nose  in  a  huge 
basket  of  fresh  violets,  when  a  voice  from  a  near 
alcove  called  to  him  : 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  go  and  dress  !  " 

Alonzo  gave  a  sharp  start.  "  Good  gracious,  Phil, 
is  that  you  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Philip  Lexington,  rearranging  a 
cushion  to  suit  his  shoulder-blades.  "I  found  you 
out,  drifted  upstairs,  got  hold  of  this  revolting  French 


10  American  JjJtisI). 

book,  and  have  wallowed  in  its  corruption  ever  since. 
I  really  should  think,  Lonz,"  he  continued,  with  an 
autocratic  little  pull  at  one  end  of  the  dark  mustache 
which  so  well  became  his  olive  and  oval  face,  "  that  in 
your  French  reading  you  might  draw  the  line  some- 
where." 

"I  draw  it  at  just  such  abominations,"  returned 
Alonzo.  "True,  the  leaves  of  that  horror  were 
cut,  but  they've  only  been  skimmed,  and  not  all  of 
them,  either." 

Rising"  on  the  great,  deep  couch  of  tufted  silk, 
Lexington  drew  out  his  watch.  "  Well,  more  shame 
for  me,  I've  actually  spent  half-an-hour  with  it. 
And,  my  dear  boy,  you'll  forgive  me  for  making 
myself  so  terribly  at  home  in  your  absence,  won't 
you,  now  ?  " 

"That's  what  you're  always  saying,"  laughed  his 
host,  "  and  you're  always  forgiven,  and  there's  never 
anything  to  forgive."  Here  Alonzo  threw  himself 
into  a  chair.  "By  the  way,  you're  to  be  my  best 
man  next  April,  if  you  will.  Will  you  ?  " 

Lexington's  dark  face  flushed  a  little.  "  Will  I  ? 
Thanks,  immensely,  Lonz.  I  —  I  thought  you'd  ask 
Winthrop  Delavan." 

"  Did  you  ?  Well,  you  see  I  haven't.  So  you 
accept  ?  " 

"  Accept !  Is  there  a  man  you  know  that  wouldn't 
be  delighted  ?  " 

"Oh,  don't  put  it  that  way." 

"But  I  do  put  it  that  way,"  persisted  Lexington. 

He  left  the  alcove,  and  dropped  into  a  great  satin. 


$ust).  11 

easy-chair  near  Alonzo,  wheeling  it  still  nearer.  He 
was  of  good  family,  good  position,  but  he  had  the 
reputation  of  being  a  snob,  who  only  courted  the  rich 
and  socially  powerful.  He  possessed  a  very  small 
income,  and  was  a  notorious  idler.  Alonzo  had  made 
him  several  large  loans  during  the  past  few  years,  and 
not  a  dime  had  yet  been  returned.  Society,  how- 
ever, had  no  shred  of  proof  that  this  was  true.  But 
it  criticised  the  intimacy,  and  drew  its  own  rather 
cynical  deductions. 

"I  often  tell  myself,  old  fellow,"  Lexington  went 
on,  "that  you're  the  most  modest  man  in  creation. 
Who  you  are  quite  escapes  you,  and  as  for  what  you 
are — an  artist  of  splendid  talents — you  never  seem 
to  give  it  a  thought." 

"  Who  I  am  ?  "  came  the  airy  reply.  "  Oh,  in  the 
name  of  common-sense,  Phil,  don't  try  to  gammon 
me  by  any  suggestion  that  I'm  anybody  from  the 
patrician  point  of  view.  Kitty  and  I  came  of  re- 
spectable stock,  that's  all,  and  you  know  it  as  well  as 
I  do.  When  your  ancestors,  the  Lexingtons,  were 
swells  in  New  York  a  hundred  years  ago,  mine,  the 
Lispenards,  were  probably  carpenters,  grocers,  per- 
haps even  bricklayers.  I  had  a  lucky  father,  who 
founded  a  big  banking-house,  and  educated  his  two 
children.  If  there  were  any  real  aristocracy  in  this 
funny,  pretentious  town,  I  wouldn't  have  the  ghost  of 
a  claim  to  call  myself  a  part  of  it.  I'm  no  more  a 
Knickerbocker  than  I'm  a  Carolus  Duran  or  a  Bon- 
nat." 


12  Stmericon  flash. 

"You're  a  very  powerful  artist,  though,"  insisted 
Lexington. 

"  Bosh,  my  boy  !  Fve  got  a  little  talent  and  a  tre- 
mendous amount  of  ambition.  If  I'd  been  born  poor 
and  obscure,  my  present  employment  would  no  doubt 
have  been  one  of  picturesque  starvation." 

Lexington  heaved  a  reproachful  little  sigh.  "  Then 
you  think  I  praise  you,"  he  began,  sadly,  "for  no 
other  reason  than  because  " 

Alonzo  jumped  up  from  his  chair  and  caught  his 
friend's  hand  between  both  his  own.  "  I  don't  think 
anything  so  nasty  of  you  ! "  he  cried,  in  the  shrill, 
eccentric  voice  he  sometimes  used.  "  Come  up  into 
the  studio,  and  let's  look  at  her  picture.  I  gave  it  a 
few  fresh  touches  this  morning.  I  suppose  they're 
the  last.  But  I've  been  saying  that  (idiot  that  I  am! ) 
ever  since  her  final  sitting,  which  was  two  weeks  ago 
yesterday." 

He  shot  out  of  the  room  at  his  usual  brisk  amble, 
and  Lexington  followed  him.  .  .  .  The  studio,  a 
great  northern  chamber,  blazed  with  gorgeousness. 
Through  an  immense  window  the  light  poured  upon 
yards  of  costly  tissues  and  hundreds  of  curios.  On 
an  easel  was  the  portrait  to  which  Alonzo  had  just 
referred.  He  stood  staring  at  it  for  several  moments 
with  folded  arms. 

"  Dear  old  Eric  Thaxter ! "  he  said.  "  You  always 
told  me  the  truth.  You  swore  I  could  only  paint  about 
one  good  picture  every  five  years,  and  I  believe  you 
were  right.  Was  there  ever  such  a  slow  coach  ?  " 


Qtmmcan  flash.  13 

"Eric  Thaxter  ?"  muttered  Lexington.  "I  remem- 
ber him  at  school  in  Vevey." 

"  We  afterward  studied  together  at  the  same  atelier 
in  Paris.  Eric  wasn't  cut  out  for  a  painter,  perhaps, 
but  he's  done  wonders  over  there  as  an  architect. 
See  this."  .  .  .  And  he  handed  Lexington  a  letter. 
"  He's  drifted  into  the  good  graces  of  the  young  King 
of  Saltravia ;  he's  built  a  new  royal  palace,  which  they 
say  is  a  grand  success. " 

"And  he's  very  anxious  for  you  to  come  on  and 
make  him  a  visit,"  said  Lexington,  while  scanning 
the  letter. 

"Oh,  yes.  He  thinks  me  a  wonderful  art-critic, 
though  the  completest  failure  as  a  painter." 

"How  obliging  of  him,"  said  Lexington,  coldly. 
He  had  for  some  time  felt  a  vague  jealousy  of  this 
Eric  Thaxter,  whom  Alonzo  would  so  often  mention, 
even  amid  the  flurry  and  whirl  of  the  life  he  led. 

"  Read  on,  Phil,  and  you'll  see.  Eric  thinks  there's 
no  one  with  such  a  flair  as  I  for  what's  genuine  in  art. 
The  young  King,  who  is  absurdly  rich  considering 
the  smallness  of  his  realm,  is  anxious  for  somebody  to 
prowl  through  the  old  Italian  monasteries  and  ex- 
hume forgotten  masterpieces,  besides  buying  at  mod- 
ern sales  everything  that  shows  transcendent  merit." 

"  And  actually  he  thinks  you  would  accept  such  a 
position  as  that ! "  sneered  Lexington.  "  Upon  my 
word,  Lonz,  it  strikes  me  as  almost  an  insult.  Does 
your  friend  suggest  any  salary  ?  " 

Alonzo  suppressed  a  yawn.     "  No.     I  dare  say  the 


14  Qitnerican 

grandeur  of  knowing  His  Majesty  would  be  thought 
sufficient." 

"  Indeed  ! " 

"Oh,  come,  now,"  cried  Alonzo,  slapping  his  friend 
on  the  shoulder,  "  it's  all  only  a  little  scheme  on  Eric's 
part  to  have  me  go  over  and  hobnob  with  him  in 
Saltravia. " 

"  And  so  he  baits  his  invitation  with  the  prospect  of 
meeting  a  king." 

"  Oh,  poor,  dear  Eric !  Not  at  all.  I  don't  doubt  he's 
aware  I've  met  several."  Here  Alonzo  began  to  count 
with  one  hand  on  the  outspread  fingers  of  the  other. 
"  They've  all  been  so  nice  to  me,  too.  Let  me  think. 
First,  there  was  the  Prince,  in  London,  year  before 
last.  But,  no  ...  he  isn't  a  king,  is  he  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he'll  pass  for  one.  I  remember,  you  saw  him 
a  lot  of  times." 

"  Through  Daisy  Bostwick,  you  know.  She  and  I 
were  such  tremendous  chums  before  she  married." 

"Daisy  Bostwick,"  smiled  Lexington.  "That's 
American,  I  suppose,  for  the  Marchioness  of  Mid- 
dlesex." 

"Yes,  I've  played  more  than  one  game  of  poker 
at  the  Middlesexes'  in  Grosvenor  Square,  with  H.  K. 
H.  .  .  .  Then  there  was  Umberto,  at  Eome.  Of 
course  he  was  nice  to  me  because  he  and  the  Queen 
both  adore  Bessie  Southgate,  who  used  to  go  to  school 
with  my  sister  Kitty,  and  is  now  the  Princess 
Carrioli ;  and  Bessie  was  simply  sweet  to  us  the 
minute  she  heard  we  were  in  Rome.  And  .  .  . 
let  me  think ;  haven't  I  any  more  royalties  to  brag 


American  JJJnsI).  15 

about  ?  Yes,  there  was  the  King  of  Servia,  whom  I 
took  supper  with  in  Paris,  year  before  last,  and  — 
oh,  I'd  forgotten  —  I  was  presented  in  Berlin,  the 
same  year,  at  a  great  ball  somewhere,  to  the  Emperor 

of  Ger But  no ;  he  wasn't  Emperor  then ;  he 

was  only  Crown  Prince.  So  my  list  is  a  pretty  small 
one,  after  all,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  It's  large  enough  for  you  to  snap  your  fingers  at  a 
minor  potentate  like  the  King  of  Saltravia.  .  .  .  By 
the  way,  Lonz,  your  people  will  soon  be  arriving. 
Why  don't  you  dress  ?  " 

"  Dress  ? "  cried  Alonzo,  lifting  both  hands  and 
whirling  himself  round  while  he  surveyed  his  attire. 
"  Isn't  this  good  enough,  in  the  name  of  sanity  ?  " 

"In  the  name  of  decency,"  replied  Lexington,  "it 
isn't.  A  velveteen  sack-coat  and  a  big  tempestuous- 
looking  neck-tie  of  brick-dust  red  silk  !  It  won't  do 
at  all.  You've  lots  of  swagger  afternoon  things. 
Ring  for  your  man,  and  make  him  put  you  into  one 
of  your  new  London  suits.  It's  positively  shameful 
that  you  should  go  down-stairs  in  those  Bohemian  togs, 
Your  sister,  Mrs.  Van  Santvoord,  will  be  furious." 

"Oh,  Kitty's  always  grumbling  at  me.  I  don't 
mind  her." 

"But  this  is  the  first  home  entertainment  you've 
given  to  Miss  Kennaird." 

"True,"  said  Alonzo,  while  his  rattling  manner 
seemed  to  soften.  "But,  my  dear  Phil,"  he  suddenly 
resumed,  throwing  back  his  head,  and  making  flighty 
gestures  with  both  hands,  "if  there's  one  thing  that 
dear  Kathleen  of  mine  likes  about  me,  it's  to  have  me 


16  American 

be  myself.  True,  she's  conventional  enough  ;  but, 
ah  !  when  I  think  of  that  adorable  girl,  she  reconciles 
me  to  all  the  sham  and  trash  of  the  life  we  live  and 
the  way  we  live  it." 

Lexington  furtively  gnawed  his  lip.  He  had  his 
own  secret  cynical  ideas  about  the  sincerity  of  this 
new  sweetheart  whom  his  young  millionaire  friend 
had  chosen. 

"Oh,  well,"  he  returned,  rather  grimly,  "if  you 
want  to  defy  convention,  it  doesn't  matter.  You're 
so  popular  that  you  can.  Nobody  minds.  They  all 
accept  you,  and  like  you  the  better  for  being  yourself, 
since  it's  yourself  they're  so  fond  of. " 

"  Fond  ! "  echoed  Alonzo,  and  with  so  harshly  un- 
wonted a  ring  in  his  voice  that  it  made  his  hearer  start 
and  stare.  He  let  his  flexible  frame  sink  down  on  the 
broad  arm  of  an  easy-chair  near  which  he  had  been 
standing,  and  his  tawny  eyes  had  never  shone  with 
stronger  seriousness  than  while  he  now  continued  to 
speak. 

"  You  good,  kind-hearted  Phil !  Don't  you  see  that 
my  popularity  is  the  merest  myth  ?  When  I  do  bold 
or  queer  things,  it  isn't  I  whom  they  laugh  at  and 
make  believe  that  they  think  funny ;  it's  a  fellow  with 
a  few  thousands  a  year  that  he  squanders  on  their 
amusement.  Let  fate  strip  me  of  those,  Phil,  and 
they'd  think  me  as  ordinary  as  their  morning  bath. 
I  don't  want  to  be  a  cynic,  and,  if  I  did,  there  are 
some  few  things  that  would  save  me  from  it.  You're 

one  of  them  " 

I  ?" 


Push.  17 

"  Yes.  You  ring  right,  somehow  —  at  least,  to  ray 
ears  you  do  ! " 

"Thanks." 

"  And  then,  there's  Kathleen.  Ah,  she  rings  right ! 
She's  like  a  perpetual  chime  of  silver  bells. " 

"  Which  you  will  soon  turn  into  wedding-bells. " 

"  In  April,  my  boy.  .  .  .  You  remember,  Phil,  how 
I  hated  the  thought  of  marriage  till  I  met  her.  Then 
everything  changed.  I  felt  like  a  transformation 
scene  in  a  pantomime.  That  big,  solid  lump  of  preju- 
dice in  me  gave  a  sort  of  click,  and  there  it  was,  a 
church-altar,  with  a  clergyman  or  two  behind  it,  look- 
ing round  to  see  whom  they  could  marry.  .  .  .  And 
do  you  know  why  that  lovely  girl  has  captured  me  ? 
Because  I  believe  she's  without  one  speck .  of  sham. 
It  isn't  her  beauty,  or  her  brains,  or  her  power  of 
charming  you  —  for  she's  got  all  three.  It's  her 
mighty  genuineness,  Phil.  She  often  seems  to  me, 
beside  the  women  I  meet  her  with,  like  a  live  flower 
that's  lost  its  way  among  a  basket  of  false  ones.  Her 
petals  (the  darling  ! )  were  not  purchased  at  a  fancy- 
shop.  They  came  -fresh  from  the  loom  of  Nature, 
who  spun  them  with  her  heart  in  her  work.  I  find 
there's  so  much  in  that,  by  the  bye.  Nature's 
made  such  crowds  and  crowds  of  us  not  caring 
whether  Brown  was  to  be  a  poet  or  a  politician,  Jones 
a  deacon  or  a  dentist.  It's  only  when  she  goes  to 
work  in  dead  earnest  that  she  turns  out  her  magnifi- 
cent men  and  women."  He  clasped  both  hands 
together  with  a  fervor  that  in  almost  any  one  else 


18  Qltnerican 

would  have  been  solely  comic.  "  And  Kathleen  Ken- 
naird  is  one  of  the  last ! " 

"I  wonder,"  said  Lexington,  dryly,  and  yet  with  a 
polite  air  of  venture,  "  whether  you  have  any  feelings 
of  this  sort  about  Mrs.  Kenuaird,  her  mother." 

Alonzo  broke  into  a  high  and  hearty  laugh.  "  She's 
worldliness  itself  ! "  he  cried.  "Who  doubts  it  ?  But 
she's  a  very  picturesque  figure.  I  like  to  look  at  her. 
She  sweeps  through  life  so.  Her  chief  idea  of  being 
happy  is  to  don  a  new  gown  and  'meet  people/ 
She's  tremendous  as  an  incarnate  idea.  I  should  like 
to  paint  her  as  that.  If  I  only  could  !  It  would  be  a 
great  picture.  Her  eye-glasses  would  be  half  lifted, 
and  her  head  would  be  a  good  deal  thrown  back,  and 
there  would  be  billows  of  silk  or  satin  below  her  waist, 
and  she  would  have  her  arms  and  neck  bared,  for 
they're  really  superb,  and  —  Well,  Fletcher."  The 
last  two  words  were  addressed  to  his  valet,  who  had 
just  appeared  at  the  open  doorway.  Guests  had 
begun  to  arrive,  and  Alonzo  hastened  down-stairs  to 
receive  them.  Almost  the  first  greeting  he  received 
was  one  from  his  sister,  Mrs.  Van  Santvoord. 
"Lonz,"  she  said,  "what  on  earth  do  you  mean  by 
turning  up  in  that  scandalous  coat  ?  " 

"It  isn't  scandalous,  Kitty;  it's  representative." 
He  appealed,  in  his  least  reposeful  style,  to  a  great 
lady  of  fashion  who  stood  at  his  sister's  side.  "  I'm 
issuing  an  edict,"  he  went  on,  with  that  kind  of  intir 
mate  and  hysteric  loquacity  by  which  he  had  con- 
trived to  shock  and  yet  to  amuse  many  associates, 


American  PUS  I).  19 

"  I  intend  saying,  '  Let  there  be  velvet  coats  at  after- 
noon teas/  and  there  shall  be  velvet  coats." 

The  lady,  a  handsome  brunette,  grande  dame  to 
her  finger-tips,  gave  an  obstinate  shake  of  her  neat- 
bonneted  head. 

"No,"  she  declared.  "I,  for  one,  sha'n't  agree  to 
any  rule  so  rowdy." 

"  Kowdy  ! "  shouted  Alouzo.  He  caught  one  of  her 
gloved  hands  and  peered  into  her  face  with  his  eyes 
quizzically  twinkling.  "  Lily,  you're  a  horrid  thing, 
and  I'll  never  be  friends  with  you  any  more.  You 
don't  love  me,  Lily.  You  know  you  don't ! " 

It  was  the  madness  of  silliness,  and  impertinence 
as  well.  Lilian  Poughkeepsie  was  one  of  the  leaders 
of  the  most  exclusive  set.  People  rarely  addressed 
her  except  in  terms  of  strictest  courtesy,  and  her 
social  nod  was  potent  enough  to  unbar  for  a  struggler 
the  gilded  and  filigreed  gates  of  the  Four  Hundred. 

Mrs.  Van  Santvoord,  who  revered  Mrs.  Poughkeep- 
sie's  position,  drew  back  with  a  gasp  of  "  Oh,  Alonzo, 
how  can  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  remained  speechless,  with  harden- 
ing face.  But  Alonzo  didn't  mind  that.  "You  see," 
he  exclaimed,  appealing  to  his  sister.  "  Lily  doesn't 
love  me,  and  I'm  going  to  receive  everybody  else  in 
my  shirt-sleeves."  He  took  off  the  velvet  coat  and 
bundled  it  under  one  arm.  "This,"  he  continued, 
"  is  to  be  my  despairing  posture  for  the  rest  of  the 
afternoon."  He  struck  so  ridiculous  an  attitude  that 
Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  burst  into  an  unwilling  scream  of 
mirth.  She  forgave  him,  just  $s  everybody  else  did. 


20 

—  just  as  he  had  been  forgiven  last  week  at  a  very 
select  cotillon  for  pretending  drunkenness,  and  tumb- 
ling flat  on  his  back  in  the  middle  of  the  ball-room. 
And  now,  while  he  was  re-clothing  himself,  a  number 
of  people  pressed  about  him,  principally  ladies,  in- 
quiring what  his  last  madness  had  meant,  and  pre- 
pared to  roar  with  laughter  at  it  before  they  had 
heard  it  explained. 

But  a  little  group  remained  apart,  and  in  this  was 
a  young  man  who  detested  him,  though  glad  enough 
to  appear  at  his  festal  summons. 

"Oh,  it's  only  some  new  caddish  prank,"  said  the 
young  man.  "He's  always  behaving  like  that." 

"But  he  wakes  people  up  so,"  said  a  girl  who  was 
not  a  belle  and  to  whom  he  had  been  kind. 

"You  wouldn't  say  that  of  me,"  replied  the  young 
man,  "  if  /  were  to  carry  on  so  outrageously. " 

The  girl  gave  a  pout  and  a  toss  of  the  head. 
"You're  not  Alonzo  Lispenard,"  she  retorted. 

"  You  mean  that  I  haven't  got  two  millions  of  dol- 
lars/' whispered  the  young  man  in  her  ear,  "and  that 
I  can't  throw  away  fifty  thousand  every  year  of  my 
life  in  dinners  and  dances  and  frolics  for  my  friends." 

The  girl  chose  to  ignore  this  burst  of  bitterness. 
"Look,"  she  said.  "There's  Miss  Kennaird,  just 
coming  in  with  her  mother.  How  sobered  he  gets 
as  he  goes  to  greet  her.  They  say  she  doesn't  ap- 
prove of  his  larking  style." 

""Well  she  may  not.     How  beautiful  she  is." 

M  Do  you  think  so  ? "  shrugged  the  girl.     "  She's 


American  J3n0().  21 

too  tall,  for  my  taste,  and  then  I  don't  like  her  eyes. 
They're  like  ice." 

"Blue  ice  —  or  green,  if  you  please  —  with  a  blaze 
of  sun  on  it.  Besides,  the  long  curls  of  their  black 
lashes  help  them  so.  And  she  has  a  face  as  delicate 
as  an  orchid." 

"  How  can  she  wear  that  black  velvet  trimmed  with 
sables?  "  pursued  the  girl.  "  They  say  these  Kennairds 
have  but  four  thousand  a  year  to  live  on." 

"Oh,  make  it  five." 

"Nobody  really  knows  just  how  much.  But  still, 
they're  poor.  Do  you  suppose  it's  possible  that  ..." 
And  here  the  girl  lowered  her  voice,  which  a  sweet 
clash  of  hidden  violins  would  in  any  case  have  drowned 
an  instant  later. 

Kathleen  Kennaird  smiled  right  and  left,  but  it 
seemed  to  certain  observers  that  her  manner  toward 
her  accepted  suitor  was  peculiarly  cold.  This  little 
afternoon  tea,  as  he  chose  to  call  it,  was  given  in  her 
honor.  Not  more  than  thirty  people  had  been  asked, 
and  those  were  the  ones  Kathleen  had  specially 
desired.  Tea,  it  is  true,  was  served  in  the  most 
exquisite  porcelain  cups ;  but  this  potion  proved,  as 
it  were,  only  an  excuse  for  other  refreshments. 
Almost  before  they  knew  it  the  guests  found  them- 
selves seated  at  little  tables,  eating  terrapin  and  sip- 
ping frozen  champagne.  Then,  in  a  short  while,  a 
soprano  voice  was  heard,  singing  from  Tristan. 
"That's  Lili  Lehmann,  or  I'll  be  shot,"  presently 
muttered  Lexington,  who  knew  nothing  of  this  sur- 
prise, so  characteristic  of  Alonzo ;  and  soon  the  great 


£2  Qtmeruan  ftttsi). 

singer  appeared,  conducted  by  the  host  himself,  her 
beautiful  face  wreathed  in  smiles.  Nearly  all  the 
women  crowded  about  her  with  cries  of  gratulation 
and  welcome.  Amid  the  general  clamor  Kathleen 
Kennaird  took  the  chance  of  saying  to  her  lover : 

"  You  have  been  doing  another  wild  thing. " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  queried,  with  infantile 
innocence. 

"  Oh,  last  night  at  the  Merrymakers'  Club.  You'll 
not  deny,  surely,  that  you  blacked  your  face  and  went 
in  at  dessert  to  the  large  dinner  Harry  Madison  was 
giving,  as  a  negro  banjo-player  ;  and  that  nobody 
found  you  out  until  a  wisp  of  your  light  hair  happened 
to  show  under  your  wig." 

"  That's  really  delicious  ! "  Alonzo  said.  "  My  face 
was  110  more  blacked  than  yours  is  now  —  and  Heaven 
knows  there  are  roses  and  lilies  enough  there!  I'd 
promised  to  be  at  the  dinner,  and  reached  the  Merry- 
makers' shamefully  late.  So  I  sent  from  the  club  for 
my  banjo  (which,  by  the  way,  I  detest  as  an  instru- 
ment, and  play  horribly)  merely  for  the  purpose  ..." 

Kathleen  shook  her  head  in  a  deploring  way  as  he 
paused.  "  For  the  purpose  of  doing  something  hor- 
ribly odd,"  she  said.  "Confess  it ;  you  may  as  well." 

"But  the  blacking  of  the  face  is  all  nonsense. 
Johnny  Chadwick  got  me  a  black  mask  from  one  of 
the  waiters.  I  dare  say  it  had  been  worn  at  some 
servants'  masked  ball,  and  happened  to  be  lying  about 
somewhere  in  the  club.  I  put  it  on  after  sending  for 
the  banjo.  It  was  all  Johnny's  idea  —  not  the  banjo, 
but  the  mask.  I  merely  wanted  to  go  infa  the  dinner 


With  a  little  music,  as  I'd  got  there  so  scandalous!}- 
late.  Everything  else  that  you've  heard  is  the 
sheerest  rubbish." 

Kathleen  laid  a  slim  gloved  hand  on  his  arm. 
"Well,  well,"  she  faltered.  "Allow  that  you  were 
maligned  that  time,  Alonzo.  But  your  taking  off 
your  coat  a  few  minutes  before  mamma  and  I  ap- 
peared !  Oh,  I  heard  of  it ;  never  mind  who  told  me. 
And  these  dreadful  escapades  of  yours  get  into  the 
newspapers.  They  must  stop  —  out  of  respect  to  me, 
Alonzo,  they  should  stop  !  You  cheapen  yourself  by 
indulging  in  them  !  No  one  likes  you  the  better  for 
them,  and  things  are  said  behind  your  back  which 
you  do  not  realize,  because  you  trust  your  friends  so 
implicitly." 

"I  don't  trust  many  friends,  Kathleen,"  came  the 
low-voiced  answer.  "  But  I  do  trust  you,  and  .  .  . 
you're  the  only  real  friend  I  have  in  the  world. 
Now,  believe  me,  there  shall  be  a  reformation.'  From 
this  moment  I  promise  one.  When  you  marry  me, 
next  April,  you  shall  marry  a  man  who  hasn't 
kicked  up  his  heels  for  weeks." 

The  music  burst  forth  again  as  Alonzo  finished 
speaking.  When  the  revelers  were  invited  to  reenter 
the  two  front  drawing-rooms,  chairs  had  been  ar- 
ranged for  a  cotillon.  Philip  Lexington  led  the 
dance  with  Mrs.  Van  Santvoord,  at  Alonzo's  request. 
Through  the  first  figure  the  participants  imagined 
that  it  was  only  an  impromptu  dance.  But  suddenly 
they  were  called  upon  to  take  it  more  seriously,  since, 
before  the  first  figure  ended,  bouquets  of  the  rarest  flow- 


24  American 

ers  liad  begun  to  circulate,  and  by  six  o'clock,  when  the 
final  strains  of  the  musicians  were  sounding,  jeweled 
fans  had  been  lavished  on  the  ladies  for  favors,  and 
the  gentlemen  had  received  cat's-eye  scarf-pins  set 
round  with  tiny  pearls. 

It  had  all  been  a  sumptuous  and  yet  charmingly 
tasteful  tribute  to  the  sweetheart  of  the  host.  People 
pressed  Alonzo's  hand  in  their  ardent  praise  of  his 
festivity,  and  told  him  that  the  entertainment  had 
been  a  blended  astonishment  and  delight.  Mrs.  Ken- 
naird,  who  had  not  danced,  but  who  had  watched  the 
cotillon,  with  her  grand  air  at  its  grandest,  whispered 
to  her  prospective  son-in-law,  just  as  he  was  slipping 
from  the  room,  having  in  his  hand  a  card  which  a 
servant  had  lately  given  him :  "  Your  tribute  to  dear 
Kathleen  has  been  perfectly  enchanting." 

"So  glad  you  liked  it,  so  glad,"  returned  Alonzo,  as 
he  receded  from  the  lofty  lady's  view.  .  .  . 

The  card  which  he  held  was  from  his  uncle,  Mr. 
Crawford  Lispenard,  head  of  the  great  banking-house 
of  Lispenard  &  Chichester. 

"  My  dear  Uncle  Crawford  !  "  he  said,  grasping  the 
hand  of  a  big  man  with  iron-gray  side-whiskers,  who 
stood  in  the  hall ;  "  we  meet  so  seldom,  but,  when  we 
do  meet,  it  shouldn't  be  like  this.  ...  I  know  you 
hate  society,  dear  old  boy  ;  still,  you'll  come  up  and 
see  my  sweetheart,  won't  you  ?  I'm  giving  her  a  little 
afternoon  dance.  You  know,  Uncle  Crawford,  you 
and  she  must  meet,  sooner  or  later.  .  .  .  Why,  you're 
sort  of  pale  and  .  .  .  queer-looking.  What's  the 
matter  ?  " 


&mmcan  JJash.  25 

"  Alonzo,"  said  Mr.  Crawford  Lispenard,  in  a  husky 
voice,  "I  —  I  must  speak  with  you,  and  speak  quite 
privately." 

Alonzo's  eyes  swept  the  face  that  he  knew  so  well 
and  dearly  loved.  This  monetary  potentate,  this 
prince  of  finance,  his  dead  father's  trusted  brother, 
who  had  been  to  himself  and  his  sister  such  a  model 
of  all  devoted  guardianship,  in  trouble!  It  seemed 
incredible. 

"  You're  somehow  not  yourself ! "  he  exclaimed, 
momentarily  careless  of  the  watching  footmen.  "  Oh, 

Uncle  Crawford,  it  isn't ?  "     And  he  drew  back, 

with  a  laugh  on  his  lips,  but  an  anxious  cloud  in  his 
gaze.  "It  isn't  any  nonsense  of  mine  that  you've 
been  hearing  of  ? 

"  No,  no,  Lonz.  Can't  we  be  alone  together  soon  ? 
HI  come  back  later,  or  you'll  come  to  me."  And  the 
gentleman,  a  little  bewilderedly,  turned  toward  the 
door,  reaching  forth  a  fluttered  hand  as  if  to  grasp  its 
knob. 

Alonzo  caught  that  hand  between  both  his  own. 
He  had  held  it  for  an  instant  before,  but  not  till  then 
had  he  realized  how  cold  it  was. 

"Light  my  studio  at  once,"  he  said  to  a  servant, 
recalling  that  the  winter  day  had  now  completely 
darkened.  The  man  sprang  upstairs  to  obey  his 
bidding,  and  Alonzo  followed  him  at  his  uncle's  side. 

"The  idea  of  your  rushing  off  like  that,  Uncle 
Crawford  !  You  come  here  so  seldom  that  you're  not 
to  be  released  so  easily  when  you  do  come."  .  .  . 

The  long,  melodious  wailings  of  the  waltz-music 


us  I). 

floated  up  to  them  as  they  ascended  the  stairs.  After 
several  seconds  Alonzo  suddenly  turned  to  his  com- 
panion. 

"Upon  my  word,  Uncle  Crawford/'  he  recom- 
menced, "if  there  were  any  bad  news  that  you  could 
bring  me,  I  should  imagine  you  had  brought  it  now. " 

Mr.  Lispenard  paused.  They  were  at  the  door  of 
the  studio.  He  put  a  hand  on  his  nephew's  shoulder 
and  stared  gloomily  down  into  his  face. 

"I  do  bring  you  bad  news,  my  boy.  I  —  I  bring 
you  horrible  news,"  he  said. 

Alonzo  felt  himself  whiten.  In  a  flash  he  divined 
what  was  meant.  It  could  only  be  one  thing.  The 
ground  swung  beneath  his  feet  as  he  passed  with  his 
uncle  across  the  threshold  of  the  studio,  and  closed 
its  door  behind  them  both. 


II. 

ME.  LISPENARD  sank  into  one  of  the  rich  chairs. 
It  chanced  to  be  a  Venetian  piece  of  furniture, 
and  his  gaunt  frame  and  elderly  visage,  both  so  clearly 
touched  by  modern  meanings,  made  an  odd  contrast 
Avith  the  velvet  and  carvings  of  this  archaic  seat. 
"  You  said  —  horrible  news  —  Uncle  Crawford  ?  " 
Alonzo  dragged  forth  the  words  while  his  gaze  wan- 
dered among  the  tumultuous  beauties  of  the  room, 
though  it  possibly  did  so  without  seeing  one  of  them. 
"  Yes,  my  boy  ;  the  firm  has  gone.  It's  been  Chi- 
chester's  work.  No  one  knew.  I  think  some  woman 
lias  been  dragging  him  into  the  whole  horror — a  mid- 
dle-aged man  like  that !  He's  drawn  enormous  sums 
and  gambled  them  away.  It  must  have  been  going 
on  for  a  good  while.  You  see,  I  was  careless  about 
the  books.  I  left  all  that  to  Chichester ;  my  confi- 
dence in  him  was  so  perfect.  I  might,  of  course,  have 
suspected.  I  knew  that  he  lived  high,  belonged  to 
fashionable  clubs,  entertained  troops  of  friends.  But 
there  was  so  much  money  for  his  share  that  I  never 
dreamed  he  could  even  spend  his  own  income  from 
year  to  year.  And  all  the  Avhile  he  was  plunging  into 
your  money,  into  your  sister's,  into  mine.  There's 
one  Wall  Street  operation  alone  by  which  he  must 
have  lost  two  millions.  And  he's  been  so  infernally 
crafty,  with  it  all !  Even  in  dying  he  showed  a  cer- 

27 


28  American  flush. 

tain  devilish  shrewdness,  waiting  till  the  very  last 
enjoyable  moment  before  he  killed  himself." 

"  Killed  himself  !  "  echoed  Alonzo. 

"  Haven't  you  seen  the  evening  papers  ? "  replied 
his  uncle.  "  Chichester  was  found  in  his  bedroom,  at 
two  o'clock  to-day,  shot  through  the  head,  and  evi- 
dently by  his  own  hand." 

There  was  now  a  silence,  during  which  Alonzo 
stole  up  to  his  uncle's  side  and  began  to  stroke  that 
gentleman's  grayish  locks  and  pat  one  of  his  shoulders 
with  affectionate  fervor.  "Uncle  Crawford,"  he  said, 
"you  mustn't  let  this  awful  thing  affect  you  too  much. 
.  .  .  Now  that  I  look  at  you  closer,  I  see  just  how  jaded 
and  upset  you  are.  I'm  so  sorry  for  you  —  indeed, 
indeed  I  am  ! " 

Crawford  Lispenard's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  He 
was  called  by  the  world  a  rather  frigid  old  celibate, 
and  he  was  known  to  live  a  lonely  and  loveless  life. 
Perhaps  in  thirty  years  he  had  never  really  wept  until 
now. 

"You're  sorry  for  me,  Lonz?"  he  murmured. 
"  And  you  don't  think  of  yourself  ?  .  .  .  you  don't 
think" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do,"  the  nephew  broke  in.  He  went 
and  touched  a  bell,  coming  back  to  his  uncle's  side, 
with  a  faint,  fluttered  laugh  leaving  his  lips.  "  That 
is,  I'm  beginning  to  think  of  myself.  But  it's  all  so 
strange,  so  dazing,  don't  you  know  ?  " 

When  his  bell-touch  was  answered  he  said  a  few 
words  to  the  servant,  who  presently  brought  a  goblet 
of  champagne,  which  he  insisted  on  having  his  uncle 


American  |3uol).  29 

sip.  Then,  when  Mr.  Lispenard  had  evidently  felt 
the  aiding  effects  of  the  stimulant,  Alonzo  went  down- 
stairs with  him  to  his  carriage.  "I  must  turn  up 
among  my  guests,"  he  explained,  "or  they'll  think 
this  one  of  my  rankest  capers  —  and  I'm  always  cut- 
ting up  capers  ;  at  least  everybody  tells  me  so.  There 
...  go  home,  and  I'll  join  you  between  now  and  ten 
o'clock,  surely.  Don't  worry  too  much.  Things 
may  not  be  so  frightfully  bad  for  us,  after  all."  And 
he  insisted  on  going  with  his  uncle  down  the  stoop 
bare-headed  into  the  biting  air,  and  closing  the  car- 
riage-door with  his  own  hands. 

Then  he  returned  to  his  guests,  who  were  wondering 
at  his  absence.  He  heard  a  voice  whispering  in  his 
ears  above  the  gay  strains  of  the  music.  "You've 
lost  everything,"  said  the  voice  ;  "you  and  Kitty  are 
paupers  ! "  But  when  people  asked  him  whither  he 
had  gone,  he  made  light  answers,  and  in  the  very 
teeth  of  a  generally  announced  departure  he  bade  the 
musicians  strike  up  a  polka  and  danced  at  his 
merriest  pace  with  two  or  three  different  partners. 

The  farewells  now  followed,  and  except  for  Kath- 
leen, her  mother,  his  sister,  Mrs.  Van  Santvoord,  and 
five  or  six  other  loiterers,  the  rooms  were  soon 
deserted. 

"You're  to  dine  with  us  this  evening,"  Kathleen 
said  to  him. 

"No  — I  can't." 

"  You  can't !  Why  ?  .  .  .  Has  anything  hap- 
pened ?  " 

"  Yes."    And  he  quickly  told  her  of  the  suicide  of 


30  £meruan  flnflrl). 

his  uncle's  partner.  "  It  will  cause  great  trouble,  you 
understand  —  pecuniary  trouble.  I  am  afraid  that 
there  is  disgrace  behind  the  suicide.  It  looks  as  if 
Chichester  had  robbed  the  firm  of  large  amounts." 
He  hated  to  tell  her  that  his  wealth  had  vanished  into 
air,  though  he  felt  securely  certain  that  she  would 
brim  with  compassion  and  devotion  the  moment  that 
she  learned  the  full  truth.  Had  they  not  had  many 
sweet  confidential  talks  together  before  this  engage- 
ment and  since  ?  And  during  such  talks  had  he  not 
seen  straight  into  her  frank,  disinterested  young 
soul  ?  Long  ago,  however,  he  had  realized  that  her 
mother  was  the  essence  of  coldblooded,  mundane 
ambition,  and  that  she  had  sanctioned  her  daughter's 
betrothal  from  motives  that  were,  in  the  main, 
sordid  ones. 

"Don't  mention  money-losses  to  your  mother,  my 
dearest,"  he  said.  "I  would  rather  speak  to  her  on 
that  point  myself."  Then,  with  a  meaning  pressure 
of  her  hand,  he  added  :  "  If  I  don't  see  you  again 
this  evening  I  shall  be  wretched.  But  I  must  talk 
with  Kitty,  and  after  that  my  poor  uncle,  who  is 
half-crazed  by  the  suddenness  of  this  blow,  will  need 
me  at  his  house.  Still,  I  will  try  to  get  to  you,  but  if 
I  fail,  forgive  me  and  pity  me  ! " 

Very  soon  afterward  Kathleen  left  with  her  mother. 
It  chanced  that  Alonzo  noted  the  parting  look  which 
Mrs.  Kennaird  swept  about  those  luxurious  rooms.  It 
seemed  to  say,  that  look  of  hers,  "  My  child  will  soon 
be  installed  here,  mistress  of  all  this  grace  and 
grandeijr." 


£tnmcan  JJttel).  31 

And  Alouzo,  with  a  secret  catching  of  the  breath, 
bethought  himself  of  the  dizzy  downfall  which  this 
woman's  ambition  must  soon  sustain.  He  pitied  her ; 
it  was  his  nature  to  do  that ;  and  yet  already  he 
could  feel  his  spirit  stirred  against  her  by  forces 
of  antagonism  and  revolt.  What  trouble  might  she 
not  make,  in  imperiously  disappointed  way,  for  the 
daughter  whose  bright  nuptial  future  would  have 
grown  null  ?  But,  thank  heaven,  Kathleen's  love  was 
proof  against  all  suasion  of  this  merely  sordid  kind. 
Against  that  stanch  fortress  the  maternal  guns  might 
thunder  futile  broadsides. 

Just  as  Mrs.  Van  Santvoord  was  gliding  from  the 
room,  her  brother  and  she  met  face  to  face.  He  had 
been  downstairs,  putting  the  Kennairds  into  their 
rather  shabby  hired  carriage.  His  eyes  were  spark- 
ling a  little  unwontedly,  and  he  had  not  the  least 
hint  of  color. 

"Oh,  Kitty,"  he  said,  "I  forgot  to  tell  you  some- 
thing. I  wish  you'd  stay  here  about  ten  minutes  or 
so  longer  ;  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Stay  ?  "  whined  Mrs.  Santvoord  ;  and  she  looked 
toward  the  gentleman  at  her  side.  He  was  her  latest 
caprice,  and  she  rarely  appeared  anywhere  without 
him.  He  had  an  amber  mustache  and  babyish 
blue  eyes.  "  I've  promised  Mr.  Pettigrew,"  she  began, 
"that" 

"  You'd  walk  home  with  him  ?  "  finished  Alonzo. 
"Jack  will  excuse  you  this  once,  I'm  sure."  And  he 
laid  a  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  Mr,  Pettigrew,  who  in- 


32  American  JjJnsh. 

stantly  produced  a  smile  that  was  a  union  of  flawless 
teeth  and  two  highly-developed  dimples. 

But  when  her  Jack  had  gone  and  she  was  left  alone 
in  the  vacated  drawing-rooms  with  her  brother,  Mrs. 
Van  Sautvoord  gave  a  long,  bored  sigh. 

"I  told  them  not  to  bring  the  carriage,  Lonz,"  she 
fumed,  dropping  into  a  chair.  "  Hector  said  he  might 
turn  up,  but  he  hasn't,  and  you  know  he  never  does  any 
earthly  thing  that  he  promises  he'll  do.  So  now  you'll 
have  to  send  me  home  in  your  carriage,  for  it's  f reez- 
ingly  cold  outside,  let  alone  being  dark  as  pitch.  And 
I  ought  to  have  got  home  an  age  ago.  I  refused  the 
Bartholomews'  dinner  because  it's  a  Patriarchs'  ball 
night.  Oh,  I  know  you're  not  going  because  for  some 
reason  the  Kennairds  haven't  been  asked.  But  that's 
nothing  to  me,  Lonz,  you  know,  and  I've  promised  to 
dance  the  cotillon  with  that  dear,  lovely  Mark  Man- 
hattan." 

"M  —  yes,"  replied  Alonzo,  musingly.  "Is  he  the 
expected  successor  of  Jack  Pettigrew  ?  " 

"Lonz  !  how  can  you  ?"  reproached  his  sister. 
"  The  word  '  successor  '  is  perfectly  insulting.  I  don't 
know  what  you  mean  by  it !  " 

She  was  very  pretty  as  she  sat  there  before  her 
brother,  with  her  trim,  neat  figure,  her  clear-cut,  super- 
cilious little  blond  face,  her  Parisian  gown  and  its  har- 
monious adjunct  of  a  jaunty  bonnet.  The  late  dance 
had  given  her  cheeks  a  becoming  pink  tint ;  her  foes 
were  apt  to  say  of  her  that  she  was  too  pale,  and  per- 
haps a  few  of  them  said  it  because  they  wanted  to 
tempt  her  into  rouging,  which  would  have  been  a 


American   JnsI.  33 


salient  peg  on  which  to  hang  their  slurs.  The 
"  Hector  "  to  whom  she  had  just  referred  was  her  hus- 
band, whom  she  had  married  when  she  was  only  eight- 
een, eloping  *with  him  for  that  purpose,  and  whom  it 
was  whispered  that  she  now  gave  a  handsome  yearly 
allowance  in  the  double  capacity  of  letting  her  alone 
and  not  appearing  to  let  her  alone  too  much.  "  Hec- 
tor has  every  conceivable  vice,"  she  had  said,  not  long 
ago,  to  her  brother,  "  except  that  of  incivility.  He  is 
so  refreshingly  polite  to  me.  I  dare  say  I  might  have 
tried  to  get  a  divorce  from  him  three  or  four  years 
ago,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  his  beautiful  manners.  " 

Were  the  truth  told  about  Kate  Van  Santvoord,  it 
would  have  cast  sad  reflections  upon  her  husband. 
She  was  one  of  those  women  who  hunger,  in  their 
girlhood,  for  protective  fondness,  and  to  whom  an 
early  marriage  is  hence  an  agency  teeming  either  with 
portentous  misery  or  joy.  Treated  with  decent  mar- 
ital respect,  she  might  have  made  an  excellent  wife  ; 
treated  quite  the  reverse  of  that,  she  had  turned  wife- 
hood  into  a  travesty.  The  aliment  of  frivolity  on 
which  she  fed  had  augmented  her  natural  feebleness 
of  character.  She  was  like  a  child  foraging  in  a  box 
of  sugar-plums,  which  can  be  taken  from  it  only  with 
tragic  shrieks  and  tears. 

Alonzo  dreaded  something  of  this  sort  now.  And 
yet  the  box  of  sugar-plums  had  to  be  taken  away. 
There  was  no  help  for  it. 

"  I  always  want  to  mean  pleasant  things  when  I  talk 
with  you,  Kitty,"  her  brother  now  replied.  "I  only 
wish  that  I  could  always  mean  to  say  them." 


34  American  fJnsl). 

"Yon  don't  always  try,"  she  pouted,  not  at  all  com- 
prehending him.  "Just  look  how  other  women 
behave.  I'd  have  you  understand  that  I  consider 
myself  the  —  the  pink  of  discretion  !" 

"  You  should  liken  yourself  to  a  lily,  my  dear,  and 
not  a  pink.  Like  the  lilies  of  the  field,  you  toil  not, 
neither  do  you  spin.  But  I'm  afraid.  Kitty,  your  .  .  . 
your  vacation  is  over." 

"  My  vacation  over  ?"  she  queried,  lifting  her  brows, 
staring  at  him,  and,  for  the  first  time,  perceiving  that 
his  face  was  colorless,  and  that  there  were  drawn  lines 
near  his  lips.  But  still  no  real  suspicion  of  the  truth 
came  to  her.  "  Oh,  dear  ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  you're 
going  to  lecture  me  !  you've  heard  something  horrid 
about  me,  and  you've  believed  it." 

Alonzo  smiled  sadly,  and  for  a  moment  lowered  his 
look.  "I've  heard  something  horrid  about  both  of 
us,"  he  said,  "and  I'm  compelled  to  let  you  know 
what  it  is."  Then,  amid  silence,  he  lifted  his  eyes, 
and  soon  added :  "  It  concerns  our  money.  There's 
been  a  great  loss. "... 

"  A  great  loss  ? "  was  her  cry,  as  she  started  up. 
"  When  ?  Where  ?  How  ?  Do  you  mean  that  any 
of  my  money  has  gone  ?  " 

"Yes."  And  as  she  again  reseated  herself,  agitated 
and  frowning,  he  pursued  :  "  Kitty,  what  will  you  do 
when  you've  heard  the  entire  truth,  since  you  deport 
yourself  like  this  on  the  mere  threshold  of  it  ?  "  He 
at  once  proceeded  to  tell  her  the  entire  truth,  and 
some  time  before  he  had  ended  she  was  almost  in 
straits  for  breath. 


SUneriran  Pnsh.  35 

" Oh,  Lonz  !  "  she  at  length  gasped.  "I  —  I  can't 
think  of  myself  as  poor!  It's  too  ghastly  !  Don't 
you  believe  there'll  be  anything  left  ?  " 

"There's  always  something  left,  in  these  hideous 
affairs,"  Alonzo  answered.  "It's  like  a  shipwreck; 
some  kind  of  rubbish  or  another  is  sure  to  get  washed 
ashore.  I'm  sorry  for  you,  Kitty  —  awfully  so.  But 
the  thing  has  got  to  be  borne." 

"  Borne  ! "  she  almost  shouted.  I  —  I  can't  bear  it, 
and  I  won't !  Poor  !  Ugh  !  I — I  loathe  poverty  !  " 

"Most  people  do." 

"  Oh,  that  vile  Chichester  !  I  always  did  detest 
him  !  He  was  commonness  itself,  with  his  twang, 
and  his  diamonds,  and  his  negro  coachman." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you." 

"He  should  never  have  been  allowed  in  the  firm," 
raved  the  sister  of  Alonzo.  And  then  her  flippancy 
broke  through  her  despair,  in  ludicrous  contrast  to  it. 
"  He  didn't  only  have  a  negro  coachman,  but  once  I 
met  him  at  Saratoga  in  the  morning  with  a  white 
evening  necktie." 

"  And  he  has  ended  criminally,  as  might  have  been 
expected." 

"  Oh,  you  joke  about  it ! "  moaned  Mrs.  Van  Sant- 
voord,  bursting  into  tempestuous  tears.  "You'd  — 
you'd  joke  at  the  cannon's  mouth  ! " 

"  That  would  depend  upon  what  the  cannon's  mouth 
happened  to  be  saying.  .  .  .  But,  Kitty,  look  here  : 
philosophy  in  these  cases  can't  but  prove  the  wisest 
course  '' 

"Philosophy  !     Pooh  ! "     She  had  jumped  up  from 


36  American  $nsl). 

her  chair  and  begun  an  excited  promenade,  pausing 
and  turning  every  few  seconds  with  a  swish  of  her 
silken  skirts.  "Philosophy  can't  pay  one's  trades- 
people for  one.  To  be  poor  is  to  be  low  and  con- 
temptible. Oh,  you  needn't  talk.  I  know  life ;  I 
know  the  pettiness  and  nastiness  of  an  empty  purse. 
See  here,  Lonz  ! "  And  she  suddenly  shot  up  to  his 
side  and  seized  a  lapel  of  his  coat  with  trembling 
hand.  "  I  shall  go  mad ;  I  know  I  shall.  I  don't 
mean  that  it  will  break  my  heart ;  no  doubt,  Hector 
did  that  long  ago,  and  I've  been  living  on  with  the 
two  pieces  bumping  one  against  another  in  my  breast, 
and  perhaps  making  me  the  restless,  feverish  creat- 
ure I  am.  But  if  it  doesn't  break  my  heart  it  will 
break  my  brain."  She  snatched  her  hand  away  from 
him  as  he  tried  to  take  it,  and  then  stooped  her  head 
while  pressing  a  palm  against  either  temple.  At  the 
same  moment  she  gave  vent  to  a  shrill,  hysteric  laugh. 
Alonzo  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  almost  carried  her 
to  a  lounge.  ...  It  was  not  till  a  good  hour  later  that 
he  accompanied  her  home  in  his  own  carriage.  .  .  . 

Her  exhibition  of  terrified  weakness  had  not,  after 
all,  struck  him  as  strange.  It  was  just  what  might 
have  been  expected  of  many  a  woman  to  whom  the 
mere  materialism  of  life  had  grown  its  dearest  aim, 
its  hardiest  fundament.  Heroism,  nerve,  resignation, 
acceptance  of  unforeseen  ill,  was  not  to  be  anticipated 
from  such  as  she.  And  there  were  so  many,  he 
reflected,  exactly  like  her.  The  very  spinal  cord  of 
their  feminine  dignity  and  self-reliance  was  pride  in 
the  plethora  of  their  pocket-books.  "Thank  God," 


American  flits!),  3? 

he  thought,  while  his  sister's  faint  sobs  broke  above 
the  rumbling  wheels  of  the  chill,  dark  carriage,  "  my 
Kathleen  is  made  of  sterner  and  better  stuff ! " 

The  Van  Santvoords  had  lately  gone  into  a  spacious 
house  on  Fifth  Avenue,  within  almost  a  stone-throw 
of  the  Park.  Kitty  had  grand  ideas  of  the  way  one 
should  live  now,  when  one's  income  permitted — and 
hers  had  certainly  challenged  extravagance.  But  it 
was  extravagance  tempered  by  charming  taste.  She 
never  entered  her  own  carriage  without  having  three 
men  to  attend  her  thither.  The  appointments  of  her 
home  were  splendor  itself,  and  yet  free  from  the  least 
vulgar  taint.  No  one  in  town  gave  grander  and  yet 
choicer  dinners,  and  her  "house-warming,"  a  few 
weeks  ago,  was  pronounced  marvelous  for  its  blending 
of  elegance  and  discretion. 

Quite  soon  after  he  had  entered  her  handsome 
home  with  his  sister,  Alonzo  met  his  brother-in-law 
and  shook  hands  Avith  him  as  he  had  done  hundreds 
of  times  before.  But  on  no  occasion,  however,  had 
the  incident  of  either  meeting  or  shaking  hands  with 
Hector  proved  at  all  agreeable.  Alonzo's  heart  had 
no  gloomy  lairs  in  which  hates  could  lurk  comfort- 
ably, but  it  is  doubtful  if  he  ever  came  nearer  to 
detesting  any  fellow- mortal  than  he  did  in  the  case  of 
Kitty's  husband.  Hector  was  to  him  a  cold,  hard, 
bright  animal,  openly  voluptuous  and  secretly  cruel. 
It  was  easy  to  see  how  any  sentimental  young  girl 
might  have  fallen  madly  in  love  with  his  heroic  figure 
and  his  chiseled  face  and  his  large  eyes  of  diamond 
darkness.  But  to  Alonzo  the  man  was  so  brutally 


38  American  $nslj. 

Philistine  that  he  offered  a  constant  personal  explana- 
tion of  his  rankest  follies.  He  had  murdered  all  that 
was  finest  in  his  wife,  and  those  who  knew  him  best 
were  well  aware  how  strong  a  thrill  of  triumph  had 
passed  through  him  when  Kitty's  own  imprudences 
had  swelled  into  a  striking  offset  against  those  which 
he  himself  had  committed.  "  I  can  hit  back,  now,  if 
she  tries  the  divorce  game,"  he  had  once  brazenly 
said  in  an  assemblage  of  intimates.  The  ribaldry 
reached  Alonzo's  ears,  and  did  not  tend  to  deepen  his 
regard  for  its  author. 

On  his  own  side  Hector  greatly  disliked  Alonzo. 
He  considered  him  a  person  besotted  with  uamby- 
pambyism,  and  fit  only  to  loll  at  the  feet  of  women 
sillier  than  himself.  He  thought  that  his  pranks  and 
capers  were  the  most  pointless  bits  of  buffoonery,  and 
that  he  was  never  so  much  in  his  element  as  when  the 
recipient  of  reluctant  giggles  from  disgusted  ob- 
servers. More  than  once,  during  wrangles  with  his 
wife,  he  had  aired  opinions  of  this  cutting  sort  as  to 
her  brother;  and  Kitty,  "for  the  sake  of  peace,"  as 
women  often  put  it  to  themselves,  refrained  from 
breathing  a  word  of  these  savageries  to  Alonzo. 
Meanwhile,  as  at  present,  the  two  kinsmen  continued 
to  interchange  civil  greetings  when  accident  placed 
them  in  one  another's  path. 

"Dinner's  been  waiting  ages,"  Hector  Van  Sant- 
voord  now  said,  following  his  wife  and  Alonzo  into  a 
small  reception-room  off  the  main  hall,  a  nook  that 
was  all  one  tender  bloom  of  rose-color  and  silver. 
Hector  himself  was  in  full  evening  dress ;  the  white 


American  JJnst).  39 

at  his  throat  became  him,  as  it  does  most  dark  meii 
with  features  clean-cut. 

His  wife  rested  an  arm  on  the  mantel  and  stood 
there  gazing  downward,  in  mournful  apathy.  Alonzo 
began  to  draw  off  his  gloves,  and  said,  while  doing 
so  :  "I  think  that  .  .  Kitty  had  perhaps  .  .  er  .  . 
supposed  you  .  .  er  .  .  would  dine  out  this  evening." 

lie  retained  no  idea  of  what  words  had  escaped  him 
a  moment  after  he  had  thus  spoken.  It  seemed 
necessary  to  break  the  awkward  silence,  and  he  had 
employed,  with  this  purpose,  a  mechanical  monotone. 

Hector  looked  at  his  wife  and  shrugged  his  shapely 
shoulders.  "I  told  you,  Kitty,"  he  grumbled,  "that 
I  would  dine  at  home.  ...  I  might  have  sat  down 
alone,"  he  went  on,  still  more  ill-naturedly,  after 
pausing  for  an  answer,  and  receiving  none;  "but  it 
occurred  to  me  that  you'd  possibly  bring  some  one 
home  with  you  —  not  Alonzo,  but  Jack  Pettigrew,  or 
some  one  like  that." 

The  sneer  was  evident,  and  as  she  perceived  it 
Kitty  raised  her  eyes.  While  she  did  so,  her  hus- 
band's look  swept  her  face,  and  he  plainly  started. 

"You've  been  crying,"  he  said.  "You're  crying 
still.  What's  happened  ?  " 

Kitty,  as  if  for  answer,  threw  herself  on  a  sofa  and 
buried  her  face.  Alonzo  went  to  the  open  door  and 
quietly  closed  it. 

"A  good  deal  has  happened,"  he  said  to  his  broth- 
er-in-law. And  then,  with  his  discourse  broken  by 
his  sister's  audible  tears,  he  spoke  for  some  time. 

The  end  of  what  he  said  left  Hector  extremely  pale. 


40 

"  Good  God  ! "  at  length  fell  from  him.  "  It's  the 
most  damnable  thing!  It's  like — like  a  nightmare  ! 
I  —  I  dare  say  I  saw  the  suicide  in  the  evening  paper, 
but  I  always  avoid  reading  those  nasty  things  unless 
they're  about  people  I  know.  And  that  fellow 
Chichester  —  why,  I'd  forgotten  he  was  in  the  firm 
at  all." 

"  His  name's  been  conspicuous  there  for  a  number 
of  years,"  returned  Alouzo,  with  griinness. 

"He  was  never  fit  to  be  Uncle  Crawford's  partner," 
exclaimed  Kitty,  lifting  her  head  and  clutching  a 
tear-stained  handkerchief  in  both  hands.  "  He  wasn't 
a  gentleman,  as  I  —  I've  often  said.  And  now  he's 
ruined  us.  For,  even  supposing  we  could  save  five  or 
six  thousand  a  year  apiece,  what  would  such  a  pitiful 
little  sum  be  to  me  9  What  would  ten  thousand  be  — 
or  even  twenty  ?  Oh,  I  wonder  my  hair  isn't  white 
already  !  Perhaps  it  may  even  come  to  living  in  the 
country !  And  I  don't  doubt  all  my  diamonds  will 
have  to  go  !  And  —  and  my  gowns  will  be  sold  round 
to  anybody  who'll  take  them,  as  Grace  Hackensack's 
were  when  her  husband  went  to  smash  ! " 

"  You'd  better  wait  till  you  know  how  things  really 
are,"  muttered  Hector,  with  lowered  head  and  with 
hands  in  his  pockets.  "I  dare  say  they'll  turn  out 
beastly  enough."  He  glanced,  here,  at  Alonzo,  and 
with  no  gentle  gaze.  "  Money  neglected  is  apt  to  be 
money  lost." 

"  Uncle  Crawford  never  neglected  his  affairs,"  said 
Alonzo. 

"  Perhaps  he  didn't.     But  he's  been  getting  on  in 


&mcrican 

years.  You  were  a  partner -in  the  concern,  as  well  as 
he.  But  you  only  turned  up  there  once  a  fortnight, 
and  sometimes  not  even  that." 

"I  never  found  myself  wanted  when  I  did  turn 
up,"  said  Alonzo,  with  indifference  rather  than  good 
temper. 

"  That  was  because  you  took  no  interest  in  the  con- 
cerns of  the  firm." 

At  this  the  brother-in-law  of  Hector  slightly 
frowned.  But  he  said,  without  the  least  harshness  : 
"I  could  never  master  matters  of  business,  and  I 
think  I  was  wise  enough  to  realize  that  modesty  alone 
makes  us  tolerate  incompetence." 

"Oh,  pooh  !"  retorted  Hector.  "Idleness  and  lazi- 
ness are  not  incompetence." 

A  flash  left  Alonzo's  eyes  then.  "No,"  he  replied. 
"If  they  were,  you'd  be  an  imbecile." 

"Oh,  come,  now,"  scowled  Hector.  "I  don't  spend 
my  time  as  you  spend  it ! " 

"True,"  Alonzo  shot  back.  "You  spend  it  in  gam- 
bling ;  I  don't.  In  drinking  ;  I  rarely  drink.  In  the 
society  of  women  whom  you  morally  despise  ;  to  me 
that  sort  of  woman  is  apt  to  be  a  dreary  bore.  .  .  .  Ah, 
no,  Hector ;  you're  entirely  right ;  we  do  not  spend 
our  time,  you  and  I,  in  at  all  a  similar  way." 

Hector  was  now  pale  with  rage.  It  had  never  oc- 
curred to  him  till  a  few  minutes  ago  that  his  brother- 
in-law's  avoidance  of  the  banking-house  would  bear 
disastrous  fruit.  But  the  horrible  shock  of  recent 
tidings  had  made  him  anxious  to  pour  blame  on  some 


42  American  Jhtei). 

one,  and  his  old  dislike  of  Alorizo  supplied,  as  it  were, 
the  needed  victim. 

"Well,"  he  grumbled,  tossing  his  head  defiantly. 
"I  don't  strike  attitudes  in  front  of  pictures  and 
statues,  and  have  fresh  flowers  brought 'to  my  bed 
before  I  get  up  of  a  morning,  and  change  my  clothes 
five  times  a  day,  and  pretend  I'm  a  great  artist  when 
I've  hardly  got  a  speck  of  real  talent.  At  least  I 
behave  like  a  man  !  " 

"Oh,  no,  Hector  Van  Santvoord,"  rang  Alonzo's 
retort.  "  Pray  don't  flatter  yourself  that  you've  ever 
behaved  like  a  man.  A  man,  I  mean,  of  either  brains 
or  principle  ! " 

"Lonz!  Hector!  You  mustn't  quarrel,"  cried 
Kitty,  springing  from  the  sofa. 

"I  don't  quarrel  with  blackguards,"  returned 
Alonzo ;  "I  avoid  Ihem.  But  when  one  of  them 
happens  to  be  my  brother-in-law  and  is  insolent,  plain 
speech  can't  be  shirked." 

"  Oh,  Lonz  ;  now,  Lonz  !  "  she  pleaded. 

"You,  Kitty,"  he  went  on,  "have  good  reason  to 
know  what  a  blackguard  that  man  really  is.  He  stole 
you  from  your  home  when  you  were  too  young  to  under- 
stand the  misery  that  such  a  match  might  bring  on  you. 
And  afterward,  having  married  you  merely  for  your 
money,  like  the  heartless  trickster  that  he  was,  he 
soon  turned  marriage  into  the  most  horrid  mockery. 
And  such  a  man  talks  to  me  of  idleness  and  laziness  ! 
The  money  my  father  left  you  has  for  years  been  his 
reason  for  steeping  himself  in  both  !  It's  an  ill  wind, 
as  they  say  —  and  if  this  catastrophe  brings  him  the 


American  $nst).  4$ 

justice  he  deserves,  it  won't  have  been  quite  so  bad  a 
one  after  all."  .  ..  . 

Alonzo  spoke  with  what  for  Hector  was  a  new  fire, 
a  new  force.  He  might  have  said  thrice  as  much  and 
yet  kept  within  the  bounds  of  veracious  invective. 
Perhaps  a  qualm  of  conscience  caused  Hector  to  stand 
staringly  silent ;  perhaps,  like  most  men  of  a  bullying 
turn,  he  was  no  match  for  nerve  and  pluck  when  they 
spring  from  unforeseen  sources.  Thus  far  he  had 
known  only  the  soft  and  indolent  side  of  Alonzo, 
laughing  with  irony  either  patent  or  furtive  when 
people  declared  the  young  man  solid  below  all  his 
lightness,  or  intellectual  notwithstanding  his  frivoli- 
ties. Abruptly  Hector  found  himself  confronted  with 
a  being  of  whom  certain  rumors  had  reached  him,  but 
whose  actual  existence  he  had  till  now  discredited. 

Alonzo  returned  his  stare  for  several  seconds,  and 
then  stooped  down  and  kissed  Kitty  on  the  forehead  ; 
for  by  this  time  his  sister  was  clinging  to  him  in 
blended  sympathy  and  fear. 

"Excuse  me,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  greatly  moder- 
ated. "I  should  not  have  spoken  as  I  did  —  that  is, 
not  before  you.  ...  I'll  see  you  or  write  you  soon. 
Trust  me,  and  good-by."  Once  out  in  the  keen  cold  of 
the  lamp-lit  avenue,  he  asked  himself  if  he  had  not 
really  been  right  in  rebuking,  with  whatever  heat,  the 
impertinence  of  a  man  who  of  all  others  might  with 
best  taste  have  bridled  his  tongue.  The  mental 
answer  to  this  question  was  a  vehement  "yes."  He 
had  dismissed  his  carrirge  at  the  Van  Santvoords' 
door,  expecting  to  dine  with  his  sister.  "Well,"  he 


44 

meditated,  "one  diues,  ii'  one  can,  in  spite  of  all  con- 
ceivable troubles  —  except  it  be  a  calamity  to  one's 
peptics."  Gramercy  Park  was  a  good  distance  away; 
he  did  not  feel  like  appearing  at  any  of  his  clubs,  and 
so  he  presently  decided  on  the  quiet  restaurant  of  a 
modest  up-town  hotel.  Here  his  appetite  certainly 
proved  slender,  so  busied  were  brain  and  heart  with 
these  late  volcanic  tidings,  and  with  the  lurid  threat 
of  to-morrow's  fresh  developments.  But  all  the 
while  he  kept  silently  whispering  to  his  unpalatable 
soup,  his  unengaging  cutlet,  that  a  heaven  of  tender- 
ness, of  compassion,  of  sacred  fellowship,  waited  him 
from  Kathleen  when  she  should  have  learned  just 
how  greatly  he  stood  in  need  of  them  all. 

"But  her  mother  —  her  mother,"  a  voice  within 
him  seemed  to  urge.  .  .  . 

"Oh,"  he  made  mental  answer  to  the  voice, 
"  why  should  not  so  radiant  a  rose  have  a  big,  sharp 
thorn  ?  Let  us  allow  that  the  mother  is  to  be  mon- 
strously troublesome.  That  will  only  deepen  the 
blessing  of  Kathleen's  constancy." 


III. 

• 

"1/TY  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Kennaird,  to  her  daughter, 
J-'-L  as  they  were  being  driven  up-town  together 
after  quitting  Gramercy  Park,  "I  do  hope  Alonzo 
will  not  be  late  at  dinner  again  to-day.  People  with 
great  establishments  need  not  mind  delays  of  this 
kind,  but  we,  in  our  detestable  little  Fifty-third 
Street  flat,  are  quite  destroyed  by  them." 

"Alonzo  isn't  going  to  dine  with  us  to-day, 
mamma,"  said  Kathleen. 

"  No  ?     And  pray  why  not  ?  " 

Kathleen  gave  the  reason,  and  her  mother  greeted 
it  with  a  little  scream.  "  Mercy  !  Suicide  ?  And  a 
partner  in  the  banking-house  !  I  wonder  what  could 
have  been  the  cause  ?  He  didn't  tell  you  ?  No  ? 
Perhaps  it  hasn't  transpired  yet.  It  couldn't  have 
been  money — oh,  surely  not!  Their  firm  is  almost 
like  the  Bank  of  England  itself.  As  you  know,  dear, 
I  made  lots  of  inquiries  when  your  engagement 
became  probable.  But  one  does  so  dislike  to  hear 
these  wretched  things.  I  declare,  this  has  quite 
shaken  me  up.  Chichester.  .  .  .  M  —  yes;  he  was  not 
a  person  at  all  in  society ;  no  one  ever  heard  of  him  at 
places.  Possibly  he  was  out  of  his  mind  when  he  did 
it.  I  think  that  I  recall  having  heard  he  was  in  a 
fast  set  —  not  of  people  whom  one  meets,  however ; 
decidedly  the  reverse.  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  he  was 

45 


46  American  flush. 

connected  in  some  vague  way  with  the  Lispenards ; 
and  the  Lispenards  (as  I  think  I  have  told  you  once 
or  twice  before,  my  dear)  were  never  of  the  least 
social  importance  till  the  father  of  Alonzo  and  Mrs. 
Van  Santvoord  married  their  mother.  She,  you 
know,  was  a  Van  Alstyne.  Not  that  the  Van  Al- 
stynes  were  by  any  means  real  Knickerbockers.  I 
remember  how  poor,  dear  mamma  used  to  say  that 
some  of  the  best  houses  in  Bleecker  and  Bond  Streets 
were  shut  to  them.  But  they  got  to  know  the  Man- 
hattans, though  for  some  reason  the  Amsterdams 
didn't  respond.  They  were  on  good  terms  with  the 
Poughkeepsies,  though  the  Schenectadys  held  aloof. 
But  when  Sybilla  Van  Alstyne  married  Gardiner 
Lispenard,  things  began  to  change.  Sybilla  was 
ambitious,  and  threw  round  the  Lispenard  name  a 
halo  it  had  never  shone  with  before.  A  truly  delightful 
woman.  I  often  see  something  of  her  in  Alonzo.  Too 
bad  that  she  should  have  died  in  her  forties  !  She  had 
just  begun  to  entertain  with  an  air  at  her  house  in  La- 
fayette Place,  and  all  the  best  people  were  at  her  feet. 
Such  pretty  feet,  too  —  and  they  never  led  her  into 
any  quicksands  like  those  that  her  daughter's  have 
dared  to  explore.  You  can't  see  a  trace  of  her  mother 
in  Kitty.  But  Alonzo  is  like  both  parents.  He 
hasn't  his  father's  fine  presence,  though.  We  speak 
of  birth  making  the  gentleman,  and  I,  for  one,  firmly 
believe  in  birth  —  why  should  I  not  ?  But  Gardiner 
Lispenard,  with  not  enough  ancestry  to  make  out 
under  a  microscope,  was  nevertheless  a  gentleman  to 
his  finger-tips.  It  keenly  surprised  me  that  his  wife's 


:o} ino 


Z68I 


qsnd 


£9581 


usl).  47 

death  should  have  killed  him,  as  they  say  it  did.  He 
always  seemed  to  be  a  person  too  high-bred  for  any- 
thing so  sensational  as  dying  of  grief.  And  yet  he 
went  within  two  years  of  poor  Sybilla,  leaving  both 
children  to  the  guardianship  of  their  uncle,  Crawford. 
Society  expected  that  Alonzo  Van  Alstyne,  their  ma- 
ternal uncle,  would  be  intrusted  with  the  care  of 
them,  for  Alonzo  had  a  .  .  er  .  .  more  patrician  kind 
of  right  to  their  custody,  as  one  might  express  it, 
don't  you  know  ?  He  had  got  to  be  a  good  deal  re- 
ceived, and  he  had  drifted  into  one  or  two  exclusive 
clubs,  and  his  money  would  have  made  him  a  match, 
if  he  had  only  chosen  to  marry  discreetly  ;  while 
Crawford  Lispenard,  on  the  other  hand,  went  nowhere, 
and  had  wholly  neglected  the  chances  of  acquiring 
position.  But,  as  it  turned  out,  the  early  death  of  poor 
Alonzo  (who  left  considerable  money  to  his  niece  and 
his  namesake  nephew)  rendered  that  existing  plan  the 
luckier  one.  And  society  remembered  the  children 
when  they  grew  up.  Even  Kitty's  mad  elopement 
didn't  alienate  us.  We  couldn't  forget,  you  know,  that 
their  papa  and  mamma  had  really  once  been  des  notres, 
notwithstanding  that  hermit  of  an  uncle.  .  .  .  But  I'm 
afraid  I've  mentioned  all  this  before,  my  dear.  It's  a 
twice-told  tale,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"Yes,"  fell  from  Kathleen,  as  she  sat  in  the  dim- 
ness of  the  rolling  vehicle,  opposite  her  mother.  She 
did  not  say  anything  more,  and  perhaps  a  note  of 
abstraction  or  weariness  in  her  tone  caused  Mrs.  Ken- 
naird  to  proceed,  with  some  crispness  : 

"  Remind  me,  my  dear,  when  I  fall  into  a  train  of 


48  ^merkon  PUS  I). 

stale  reminiscences.  That  is  a  sign  of  advancing 
years,  and  I  wish  to  avoid  all  elderly  follies,  as  I  hope 
I  have  steered  clear  of  all  youthful  ones.  It  is  my 
wish  not  merely  to  grow  old  with  grace,  but  with  a 
certain  interesting  freshness  —  de  mine  bon  enfant, 
you  know.  So  many  women,  as  they  age,  get  care- 
less about  pulling  themselves  together.  They  sink 
into  ruts,  and  stay  there.  I  want  to  avoid  that  sort  of 
thing.  Society  rewards  one  if  one  will  only  make  an 
effort.  Wrinkles  and  gray  hairs  are  forgiven,  1  have 
observed,  but  never  the  tendency  to  be  dull  and  tau- 
tological. You're  passed  over  the  instant  you  begin  to 
be  prolix  —  to  construct  your  syntax  with  an  excess  of 
perfects  and  pluperfects.  Now,  I  don't  want  to  be 
passed  over,  and  I  intend  to  preserve  a  healthy  cult  for 
the  present  tense  of  things." 

Kathleen  smiled  to  herself  in  the  gloom.  She 
could  not  help  wondering,  just  then,  if  her  mother 
had  ever  spent  a  single  wakeful  hour  in  her  whole 
life  without  serious  reflections  on  the  subjects  of 
"society,"  "position,"  and  "the  people  whom  one 
meets." 

No  hardship  or  bereavement  had  ever  served,  indeed, 
to  lessen  in  this  lady's  esteem  the  magnitude  of  these 
momentous  questions.  And,  when  all  was  told,  she 
had  been  a  woman  whom  neither  hardship  nor  be- 
reavement had  spared.  Her  family  (how  often  had 
Kathleen  heard  so  ! )  was  of  genuine  New  Amsterdam 
stock,  and  as  Margaretta  Van  Lerius,  an  only  child, 
she  had  been  reared  in  that  ease  which  only  wealth 
makes  possible.  But  while  she  was  yet  a  young 


American  flash.  49 

woman  her  father  met  with  financial  ruin,  soon  after- 
ward dying.  Margaretta  had  been  a  haughty  belle, 
somewhat  heavier  in  type  than  Kathleen,  and  not  half 
so  beautiful,  but  with  the  same  graceful  bearing  and -the 
same  sculpturesque  arms  and  neck.  She  held  her  head 
higher  than  did  ever  her  daughter,  and  moved  about 
with  a  statelier  air.  She  was  always  thinking  of  a 
great  marriage  (even  as  a  little  girl  she  had  dressed  up 
her  dolls  in  bridal  robes  for  their  weddings  to  imagin- 
ary princes  or  dukes) ;  and  when  the  family  fortune 
had  gone  and  she  was  obliged  to  live  with  her  mother 
in  a  Ninth  Street  boarding-house,  her  matrimonial 
ambitions  burned  still  more  feverishly. 

The  Van  Lerius  kindred  (uncles  and  aunts  and 
cousins)  would  call  upon  her  in  these  new  and  hated 
surroundings,  and  go  away  shocked  by  her  worldliness 
and  pride. 

"  Isn't  it  dreadful  ? "  her  mother  would  wail  to 
them,  whenever  Margaretta  was  out  of  hearing. 
"Adversity  hasn't  humbled  her  a  bit.  She's  just  as 
grand  in  her  ideas  as  ever  she  was." 

Now  had  begun  for  Margaretta  those  drastic  ordeals 
of  economy  from  which  nearly  all  her  future  life  was 
to  suffer.  She  persisted  in  "going  out,"  for  to  stay 
in  was  torture.  Her  gowns  often  made  a  wof ul  show- 
ing, but  she  always  wore  them  with  a  feminine  sov- 
ereignty of  mien  that  was  quite  her  own.  Poverty 
had  by  no  means  crushed  her ;  she  aspired  in  a  way 
'still  to  lead  her  world,  and  the  stress  of  her  extreme 
energy  and  self-belief  saved  her  from  failure.  Caste 
was  then  more  thought  of  in  New  York  than  now, 

4      . 


Unh 
S 


